Richard Smallwood didn’t just write songs. He crafted hymns that felt like they had always existed. His music lived in that rare space where classical precision met the raw ache of the Black church, where the moans and wails of its origins could sit comfortably beside contemporary praise. The legendary composer, pianist, and worship leader — whose catalog was often a liaison between gospel and classical music— died of kidney failure on December 30. He was 77.
Even artists who rarely stepped into gospel spaces felt compelled to pay tribute to him. “His music didn’t just inspire me, it transformed me,” soul, R&B and funk legend Chaka Khan told CBC News.
Stevie Wonder, Destiny’s Child, Boyz II Men, and Whitney Houston were among the secular artists who have performed or recorded Smallwood’s music.
His passing reverberated across sanctuaries, concert halls, and choir lofts around the world. For many, it felt like losing a living bridge between the old guard of gospel pioneers and the new generation.
Smallwood’s songs — “Total Praise,” “Center of My Joy,” “I Love the Lord,” “Anthem of Praise” — became liturgy. They were sung at weddings, funerals, commencements – and even performed by HBCU marching bands. His compositions traveled farther than he ever could, becoming the soundtrack of Black resilience and worship.
Born in Atlanta in 1948 and raised in Washington, D.C., Smallwood grew up in a home where music and ministry were inseparable. His mother, a classical pianist, introduced him to Bach and Beethoven. The church introduced him to the blues-tinged gospel of Dorsey, Sallie Martin, and the caravans of sound that defined mid-century Black worship. Smallwood absorbed it all — the discipline of classical training, the improvisational fire of the Black church — and fused them into something unmistakably his.
He graduated with honors from Howard University. By the time he founded the Richard Smallwood Singers in the late 1970s, he had already begun reshaping the sound of contemporary gospel. His arrangements were lush, symphonic, and unapologetically formal — yet they carried the emotional truth of a Sunday morning testimony. He wrote with the heart of a preacher and the technique of a conservatory scholar.
That duality is what made him a modern-day Thomas Dorsey. Dorsey gave gospel its language; Smallwood gave it its architecture. Dorsey brought blues into the sanctuary; Smallwood brought the symphony. Both men understood that Black sacred music is elastic — and stretches to hold our grief, our joy and our praise.
Smallwood performed with the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra’s IN UNISON Chorus on more than one occasion. IN UNISON — founded to celebrate and preserve the music of the African diaspora — was the perfect vessel for his work. Under the baton of conductors who understood the spiritual weight of his compositions, Smallwood’s music soared in Powell Hall with the same authority it carried in the pews.
His headlining appearance for IN UNISON’s “Gospel Christmas” nearly a decade ago in 2016 transformed the concert hall into a sanctuary.
Symphony musicians who had spent their careers playing Mahler and Mozart found themselves swept into a different kind of majesty — one rooted in testimony, survival, and the unshakable faith of the Black church. Smallwood didn’t just lead them; he invited them into the story.
His collaborations with IN UNISON also affirmed something he had always believed: that gospel music belongs on the world’s grandest stages. That the sacred sound born in storefront churches and wooden-floor sanctuaries deserved the same reverence as any classical canon. That our music — Black music — is America’s music.
His honors include Stellar Awards, Dove Awards, a Grammy nomination, and induction into the Gospel Music Hall of Fame.
But Smallwood’s influence extended far beyond his compositions. He was a mentor, a historian, and a keeper of the flame. He carried the stories of the elders with him, often reminding younger musicians that gospel’s power lies not in performance but in purpose.
Richard Smallwood leaves behind a body of work and arrangements that will continue to stretch the boundaries of gospel music. And his legacy — like Dorsey’s — will continue to shape the sound of Black worship for generations.